


Someone Else's Angels

by collie



Series: Someone Else's Angels [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Bloodplay, I absolutely wrote 4409 words worth of straight up porn, I suck at writing Stiles so he doesn't say much, Incest, M/M, Multi, Peter being an amazing creep, Slight Derek submission, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was a little more mess in Derek's life these days? Just one more broken thing on the floor of his home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Else's Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 3A. Takes place immediately following episode 3x07 'Currents'. 
> 
> This is for [Katie](http://haleashes.tumblr.com/). It's all your fault. Take responsibility for this because it’s awful. ;D

Boyd was dead. Erica. Poor fucking Heather. Even Harris' disappearance and presumed sacrifice was weighing on Stiles' mind, twisting his reality into something ugly and terrifying. Everything was falling apart, spinning out of control, and Stiles could barely keep up, let alone do anything to stop it.

And so here he was, having a bit of a mini-breakdown in the window of Derek's loft after volunteering to help pump all the water out. Mop up. Dry it out. The nice thing about all that water was the ability to completely ignore Boyd's blood. Or try to, really. Stiles couldn't tell, but he assumed the smell lingered faintly. Death wasn't a scent so easily washed away. It was certainly one he was used to.

 Derek had left about ten minutes ago muttering something about food or some other excuse. Stiles knew better; knew that Derek just needed to go. Get out. Just for a little while.

 Stiles was sitting on one of the sharply-edged concrete windowsills, face in his hands and bent over, elbows digging into his thighs as he curled up halfway as much as he could. His heart was pounding in his ears and blood rushing through all his pulse-points, and he kept trying to steady his breathing. But he was worried and scared and he felt like his stomach was going to jump out of his throat at any moment. Strange but it felt safe in his panic attack. Like he didn't have to just deal for once.

 “Something that I find works very well for calming the nerves,” came Peter's drawl, the older man suddenly at his side, causing Stiles to very nearly flinch. Peter hadn't been around for a few days, but Stiles was too tired and frayed to be suspicious or ask questions. Honestly, he could care less right now.

 “A time-honored classic. Join me?” And when Stiles chanced a glance over, dropping one of his hands to his lap, he saw the eldest Hale holding up a fifth of something amber and giving it an almost playful shake. Stiles knew from experience that it would taste fucking awful, but it would would burn good and distracting down his throat and warm his belly and help him momentarily forget all of the shit he couldn't get out of his head. So fuck it. Why not?

 Stiles held out a hand and Peter smirked, happily passing the bottle over.

 –

 The scenario Derek walked in on was nothing he'd ever anticipated  _ever_  seeing. In his life. Especially not in his own home. For a moment he thought he'd gone insane, or was dreaming, but no. No, not with those smells.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he growled at Peter as he stalked through the large space, teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw together, unable to rationalize what he felt surging inside of him at the sight of Stiles on his knees on the cold, hard concrete, palms pushed firmly against the sharp-edged window ledge as he gripped it, his eyes wide as a baby deer when they turned to light on Derek. That was pretty much all he could do, though, seeing as Peter had a vice-grip in Stiles' hair and was holding his mouth firmly down and around the former alpha's cock.

Peter lounged back against the sill, shirtless with his jeans down around his ankles, and made a bit of a face at Derek, giving his nephew his full attention as if he wasn't presently near-choking an underage boy on his erection. He held up thumb and forefinger and pinched the air between them, bringing them together until maybe less than half an inch remained. He hummed and glanced at his fingers, giving another shrug and a bit of a reluctant nod before dropping his hand back down. A single claw grew from Peter's middle finger and he  _tap tap tapped_  it against Stiles' shoulder-blade before digging into the skin and drawing a shallow, short cut, giving a little smirk as he felt the boy shudder, heard him whimper.

“Are you  _seriously_  this twisted?” Derek shouted, feel his wolf on edge, growling beneath the surface, the sight of more little cuts on Stiles' skin making his own crawl and heat; or was that just the sight of Stiles on his knees, the pretty –  _pretty –_ red lines from blood droplets having rolled through the sparse happy trail and straight down-  _fuck. They were on his stomach, too._

“Not twisted,” Peter said, his tone unaffected as he flexed his fingers, scratching blunt, human nails over Stiles scalp. The boy let out a sound that was both helpless and desperate and  _so fucking on edge aroused_  and reached out to curl a hand around Peter's calf, as if silently pleading.

“ _Not_  psycho.  _Realistic_ ,” Peter stated, his tone calmly chiding as he held eye contact with Derek while rocking his hips forward, sinking himself deeper into Stiles' throat before pulling out a bit, but never completely, knowing that that sweet jaw ache was one of the few things the kid could concentrate on right now to help him forget the rest of the shit going on in his life.

“You of all people should know that we're all just animals,” he chuckled, before tensing gently with a sudden hissing intake of breath, that claw and it's three companions suddenly flexing and digging Stiles' back, sending a few more rivulets of ruby red sliding down along that perfect, pale, smooth back-skin as Stiles' throat worked, swallowing around Peter's cock with a whimper-groan. “This is what we want,” he continued, his voice rasping softly with arousal. “To be used. Owned.  _Needed._ This is what we  _like_. So get down off of your self-imposed pedestal of exile and come rut in the mire for a little while with the rest of us pigs,” he chuckled darkly.

Something flashed in the warm, still air between them and Derek's hand shot out, grabbing the half-full fifth of whiskey out of the air and brought it down, glancing at it. He didn't know why, for what reason, or why he couldn't talk himself out of it, but after losing so much so quickly, maybe Peter was right; maybe you did need to hit rock bottom before you could finally claw your way back up again.

The whiskey wouldn't really do anything; Derek couldn't get drunk off of so little, but it affected a sort of placebo with the alpha, and before he knew it he'd tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder and back toward the entrance, the sound of glass breaking strangely calming on his nerves. What was a little more mess in his life these days? Just one more broken thing on the floor of his home.

“I  _really_ don't like you,” Derek growled tersely before walking toward the coupling of near-friend and uncle, the sound of knuckles cracking actually a little distracting in the otherwise still air of the loft. Suddenly Stiles felt an impact reverberate through him and a line of drool slipped from his slack, now empty mouth as Peter toppled over and fell on his bare ass, hand reaching up to cradle his broken jaw with a groaning snarl that sounded both angry at and proud of his nephew.

“Point taken,” Peter said, his voice a little slurred as the swelling came up, but it didn't last long, and the sound of the older man re-setting his jaw was kindly muffled behind his hand. With annoyed huff Peter got back to his feet and made a show of wiping his hands and ass off, before leveling a flat stare at Derek. He then turned to glance at Stiles who had just been grabbed around the waist by Derek and hauled back up to his feet. Peter's lips curved softly as he reached down to grab his bunched jeans, tugging them up over his hips before tucking himself back in. His eyes flicked down and shamelessly took in the sight of the naked teen, the way his nephew kept arms around him,  _protected_  him, before he turned and began to walk away with a soft chuckle.

Stiles, who hadn't spoken yet, and looked like he would have preferred to remain silent if he'd had the option, shot out a hand to grab Peter around the wrist, giving a soft sound of protest in his throat as red-rimmed brown eyes gave the eldest a regretfully imploring look.  _No. Don't go._

“You  _want_  him to stay?” Derek stated with slight shock in his voice as his hands stilled at Stiles' waist, and at Derek's words Stiles showed his first glimmer of that well-known defiance.

“Shut up, Derek,” he muttered, eyes flashing sharply as he pushed Derek's hands away, lips twisting into a frown before stepping away and half-turning, eyes flicking over at Peter as one of his hands moved to unconsciously palm over the few shallow cuts on his abdomen.

“No, he  _needs_  me to stay,” Peter said, jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips, not even bothering to zip up his fly. Because, really, modesty had been shoved out the window awhile ago. “You can't give him everything he needs right now.”

“And what exactly does he ne-” Derek began, words snapping at Peter like gunfire.

“The blood,” Stiles said, his voice so quiet it actually cut through the weighted air between the three of them, causing both of the wolves to snap their heads toward him, cocking them at the same time. And where Derek frowned, puzzled, Peter smirked, knowing.

“You can't scratch me,” Stiles continued to Derek, feeling strangely disconnected right now, like he was talking about someone else. “It's too dangerous. I could turn or get sick. But Peter can. Peter knows-” he cut himself off, lips parted as he breathed heavily through his mouth before ducking his head and looking down. Not embarrassed; he just didn't know what to say.

Derek dragged in a breath as he stared at Stiles, skin crawling again with something akin to a vicious protectiveness. Most of the time he and Stiles clashed, but that was mainly Derek. He didn't like the way the kid could see right through him. But that didn't mean he didn't... he knew there was something...

Peter pushed away from the window and walked over, hands deftly zipping up his fly over his still-hard cock before turning to face Derek, clasping a hand on his nephew's shoulder and turned to face him, leaning in to speak intently into his ear.

“He needs to be hurt because he feels numb,” Peter said lowly, his voice nothing more than a rumbling reverb in his throat; Derek the only one able to pick up on the words. “He needs to be controlled because his world is spiraling down the shitter.  _You_  are his alpha, too, whether you can admit it or not, and you can hate me all you want for this, but you know I'm right.” He took a step away and half-turned toward Stiles, the hand on Derek's shoulder moving to grab the back of the younger Hale's neck. “He needs this and so do you,” Peter continued, before practically shoving Derek toward the slender human. “Now go and take care of that boy.”

Derek couldn't rationalize what was happening here, but he found himself moving with the shove regardless. Just turn his brain off and things would work out, right? Good excuse as any. He reached back to grab the collar of his shirt, tugging it off and tossing it aside before reclaiming Stiles in his arms, a low rumble in his throat as he dropped his face to press against the younger man's neck, pulling in the smell of him –  _blood sweat cock tears need need hunger weary_  – big hands moving to palm over Stiles back, down to cover his ass, squeezing and gripping and pulling these soft, restrained sounds from Stiles' throat that shot straight to his cock. One hand dropped to grab a thigh and lifted Stiles like he weighed nothing, settling him against Derek's hips, legs wrapped loosely, before walking them both toward the bed.

–

The blur of heat and lust and skin and moans and groans and growls was a welcome distraction from Derek's own thoughts. The air was thick with the smell of them both, but Peter always lingered on the outskirts, and though Derek had never forgiven him and probably never could, he was still undeniably pack; family. Blood. And so when he felt his uncle's hand on his shoulder as he was riding out his orgasm, looming strong and tense over Stiles, still buried as deep as he could fit inside of that sweating, trembling body, he didn't snap, he didn't yell, he didn't even flinch away. He  _leaned_  into the touch, as if it were welcome. And maybe right now, in this place, it was.

“Get on your back, Derek,” Peter murmured, his eyes flashing behind Derek to Stiles' face, and the panting boy, mouth hanging open, cock still laying hard and heavy against his stomach, met Peter's eyes with a flare of excitement in his own. “Stiles, come here.”

Derek dropped his head to drag sweat-soaked hair across the boy's belly, his lips parting to mouth and tongue over Stiles' erection as he gently pulled out. Stiles' teeth clacked together with a hissed-in breath, slender hips jerking up and shoving his cock against Derek's mouth as he fisted the sheets with shaking hands, desperate now; desperate to come. Desperate for anything and everything.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, his pupils blown as he forced his eyes back open, Derek's hovering form moving off of him and rolling over onto his back, the sheets cool where he lay, as Stiles' heat emanated from the bed beside him. Peter reached out to grab Stiles around the upper arm, tugging him up to sit, the older man's face a mask of almost business-like calm.

The bed dipped as Peter added his weight, manhandling Stiles over Derek, kicking the boy's knees out and forcing him to straddle the spent-looking alpha. Peter had lost his jeans again and that was as it should be, because the last thing Stiles wanted to feel pressed up against his tender ass right now was rough denim and the biting metal of a zipper.

All Derek could see was Stiles, the boy weakly hovering above him on thighs that were tense, brown eyes almost black from the dilation of his pupils. The alpha took him in with a hungry growl, one hand reaching out to grab Stiles by the hip, his other moving toward the boy's aching length, eager to feel it against his palm, hot and hard, slick with Stiles' own precum, but Peter's voice cut through the air, halting him.

“Don't,” said the older man, his voice ringing with an air of authority that even gave Derek pause, because alpha or not, Peter was still his elder. “He doesn't get to come yet.” Stiles eyes squeezed shut, teeth grinding around an almost desperate whine, and and he suddenly found himself bent over Derek, face pressed against the wolf's stomach with a hot gasp of breath.

“Hold him for me,” Peter purred low, grabbing Derek's unoccupied hand and pressing it to Stiles' other hip, pleased when he saw his nephew's dual grip tighten on the boy. Peter's eyes blazed a bright blue as Stiles's toes curled and hands scrabbled to grab one at the bedding, one on Derek's bicep, his cheek flush against firm abdomen. Peter glanced down and took himself in hand, fisting tightly over his own length before pressing the blunt head against Stiles' well-used hole, trying to mask a lascivious leer as he slicked himself with Derek's come, the opalescence leaking down the cleft of Stiles' ass.

Peter pushed inside, grunting as tight heat surrounded him and Stiles cried out softly, wantonly, his fingernails digging half-moons into Derek's arm. He quivered, panting, listening to Derek's heart thudding against his ribcage as Peter entered him with hard, shallow thrusts as Derek's hands held his hips steady, not letting him shy away, but also preventing him from pushing back. Stiles whined pathetically as his cock throbbed, but his head was blessedly clear.

One of Peter's hands reached to clamp down over Stiles' shoulder, assisting Derek holding him still as he lifted his other hand, claws slowly pushing out; lengthening, sharpening. He avoided Derek's eyes because he didn't want to stop, and as much as he hated to admit it, the wrong look from his alpha could halt him dead in his tracks. He rolled his hips back and pulled out nearly to the head, gritting his teeth before swiping four clean, shallow lines down one side of Stiles' spine, spilling the meaty, metallic scent of blood into the air as rocked back in with a solid thrust.

The groaned curse that ripped out of Stiles was enough to get Derek achingly hard again, one hand pulling away from a slender hip to clasp the back of Stiles' head, dragging him down into a hot, messy kiss. Derek's other hand reached back and grabbed Peter on the thigh, yanking at him, wordlessly demanding his uncle move. No more fucking around.

Peter's jaw clenched and he rolled his shoulders, clawed hand shifting effortlessly back to human as he began rocking his hips, pushing into Stiles with slow, steady thrusts, his eyes lidded and filled with a hungry light as he trailed his fingertips through the fresh, bright red blood running in slender trails along the boy's skin. The hand on Stiles' shoulder moved to overlap Derek's, and Peter grabbed a fistful of Stiles' hand, yanking the boy's head back and forcing them to break their kiss as he brought his hand up, licking the human's blood off of his ring finger.

Peter tasted nothing but lust, nothing but pleasure; no trace of anxiety or fear. Stiles smelled comfortable here, with them, and that was the strangest aphrodisiac that a predator could experience. They all had blood-lust, but some of them liked to indulge a little more directly.

Derek's eyes flashed up at his uncle, a warning glare in them that Peter didn't even dignify before leaning down over Stiles' back and pressing a bloody thumb to Derek's mouth, smearing red along his nephew’s lower lip. Derek's nostrils flared and lips parted, and he didn't even have time to be disgusted by the fact that this was Peter before his eyes fell shut and he parted his lips, sucking hard on the digit. Peter rumbled low in approval as the feel of Derek's tongue pressing and dragging against the pad of his thumb shot a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, and he swore he heard Stiles curse, but Peter was nothing if not all about family, and so had no protests as Derek moved on to clean his index finger free of Stiles' blood with a tongue that  _really_  seemed to know what it was doing.

“Oh, god,” came Stiles voice, and for the briefest moment the two Hales blinked, as if they'd momentarily forgotten who was sandwiched between them. “Please-  _fuck_...” He was shaking. He stank of want and need. He probably would have  _killed_  someone to come right now. It was  _gorgeous_.

With a grunt Peter dropped his forehead to rest on Stiles shoulder-blade, just to feel the boy's tremors, before bending and licking a long stripe along one of the slices in Stiles' skin, and the boy shuddered and clenched around him.

“Put your hand on his cock,” Peter half-growled down at Derek, his own resolve starting to slip as Stiles squirmed beneath him, gasping and groaning wordless pleas. “Get him off.” And as Derek did what he was told without a word or a look, Peter felt a surge of the power he once had over his nephew.

The feel of Derek's hand wrapping around his cock at last had Stiles making sounds he'd only made when he was absolutely certain his dad wasn't home and he was alone in the dark, in his room, under the covers, with music blaring. Sounds he'd probably be humiliated he'd made tomorrow, during the light of day. But right now, each strong jerk of Derek's fist and each hard, driving thrust of Peter's cock helped shut his brain up and induced a blissful sort of euphoria that he was a little terrified might become slightly addictive.

Peter, who  _loved_  acting on instinct and loved causing trouble, finally released his grip on Stiles' hair and let the kid's head fall onto Derek's shoulder so he could press it to the mattress and support himself as he pistoned his hips, feeling hot pleasure twisting in his groin and sparking up his spine. He brought his other hand to his mouth and spit in the palm, not hesitating to shove it between Stiles and Derek's hips, taking his nephew's erection quite literally in hand.

“You fucking  _fuck_ ,” Derek growled, and Stiles cried out and shook with pleasure-pain as the alpha's hand momentarily clenched too tight around his length, and Stiles was _so so fucking close_. Derek's back arched slightly, his jaw tense as teeth clenched, and just so he didn't have to give Peter the satisfaction of seeing him come, he grabbed Stiles by the back of the head and kissed him again, swallowing up all those delicious and perfect fucking sounds that the younger man made, letting him taste the faint copper of his own blood as his tongue slid over Stiles' teeth and curled against the boy's own slick muscle.

Of course Stiles came first, pretty damn violently, and Peter had to pulling his hand from the mattress and loop his arm around the boy's hips to keep him from bucking them both off the damn bed. Peter's hips stuttered as he came, a low rumbling growl in his throat as he jerked his head to the side to keep from digging his canines into the back of Stiles' slender neck. Unfortunately Stiles wasn't his to claim, not that way, at least. The feel of the boy's hot release on Derek’s stomach and over Peter's hand on his cock was what got Derek off, his hips bucking almost gently compared to the other two, and he pulled his mouth away from Stiles' and dropped his head back onto his pillow, eyelids fluttering as he nearly soundlessly came over Peter's hand.

“Good boy,” Peter breathed, not at all meaning to be condescending in any way, but he  _was_  genuinely proud of Derek for letting loose. Having some fun. With a sloppy kiss to Stiles shoulder Peter rolled his hips back and pulled out with a heavy sigh before gently lowering Stiles to rest on top of Derek. Peter rolled over and sprawled out on the other side of the bed, letting out a breathy laugh before bringing his hand up and sucking the taste of Derek off of a few of his fingers.

Derek made an annoyed sound and turned to face his uncle and gathered Stiles, who was now laying limply and breathing raggedly between them, wrapping arms around him and inhaling at the crook of his neck.

–

It was nearly forty minutes that the three of them laid there, on the bed, Peter on his back with fingers laced over his stomach, blue eyes staring up at the ceiling as he occasionally smiled at whatever it was he was thinking about, and Derek molded around Stiles from behind, eyes like green glass latched to his uncle, just watching him. Trying not to over-think things, because what the fuck.

Stiles, however, was asleep. Asleep or passed out. He hadn't lost much blood, Peter had kept the cuts shallow, but he'd had a lot to drink and just got plowed by two wolves; an alpha and a former alpha. Derek pondered with a very muted amusement that the kid deserved a fucking prize.

“Well, I'm off,” Peter said suddenly, and Derek blinked, watching the older man push himself up from the bed, his chest and right arm streaked with blood. Derek entertained thoughts of dragging Peter into the shower and forcing him to wash Stiles off before drowning him in the toilet, but he refrained. He didn't know why, but he did.

Peter, on the other hand, couldn't have been in a better mood. He tugged his jeans on and shoved his bare feet into his shoes (Derek could keep the socks), but hadn't had the chance to grab his shirt before he felt his nephew behind him.

“Hey, Peter,” came Derek's voice from behind the older man as soon as he'd finished stomping into his second shoe. Peter wrinkled his nose and pulled a face, huffing a breath before turning around, knowing exactly what was about to happen. “Don't ever tell me what to do again.”

And then Derek punched Peter once more, not  _as_  hard as the first time, but still hard enough to knock a tooth loose. Peter jerked to the side and bent nearly double, one hand on his thigh to support himself for a moment before he slowly straightened again with an annoyed sound. He didn't even have time to recover completely before Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and drew him in close, foreheads almost touching, and both sets of eyes locked together with an intense, unspoken communication.

No words were exchanged, but the sentiment was clear.  _Thank you for helping him, but if you ever touch him or me again, you're dead_. Derek gave a soft little growl and flashed red eyes and teeth, before releasing Peter and stepping back to turn away, even as he gave his uncle a little shove toward the door.

“Leave,” Derek said, walking tensely back toward the bed.

Peter just rolled his eyes a bit before spitting on the ground –  _blood saliva come_  – before licking his teeth, tonguing the loose tooth before feeling it settle back into his jaw again. He glanced over at Stiles and gave the sleeping boy a strange smile, wearing the expression with a near sense of accomplishment before grabbing his shirt and striding toward the door, unlaced boots clomping obnoxiously on the cement.

“Call me,” Peter sing-songed over his shoulder, the older wolf's smug little chuckle floating to Derek's ears as the alpha crawled back into bed with Stiles to lick the boy's wounds.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/) . [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxied) . [policy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/profile)


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